Grief – Thinking of Zubin

Being Present

Posted on July 12, 2018August 8, 2018 by Mridu Vashist

July 13, 2018

What is the point of this world anyway? I know I am not the first person to consider this question. My eleven year old child is no more. But I am still here. There are people who are a hundred years old who are still here. But there are so many children who come and go from this world within months and years of being born. Were they just unlucky? Are the nonagenarians and centenarians among us particularly lucky? Who is to say that what we do with our lives and time on earth is even meaningful in any way? When there are two buds on a stem and only one of them blossoms into a flower, is the one that didn’t unlucky? Is the sapling that didn’t develop into a tree unlucky?

In order to survive a great loss, we get back to the basics. We hunker down our psyche and just focus on existing. If we set aside the race after transient symbols of power and security – wealth, beauty, ‘success’, all that we are left with is the difference between being and not-being. Whether we are taking a breath or not. Practice of meditation is central to the concept of Zen Buddhism, which is said to have originated in China during the Tang Dynasty. The other day, our guide was describing Tao and Zen. And it reminded me that friends and family have been asking me to try and meditate to improve my state of mind. I have been struggling to look out from the darkness that envelopes me, so that I can truly behold this world, such as it is with all its disappointments, losses and trials.

In recent months, I had tried to jump into meditation by sitting still to quiet my mind. No success at all there. My mind is screaming too much in pain. And it won’t stop screaming. All those thoughts that I am just supposed to observe and then let flit away stay and make me cry. So I had given up on meditation. Then I read a little about Zen and its practice of observing the mind and breath. So I started by just asking myself “What am I feeling?” And I have been doing this three to four times a day. When I am writing, my mind says “Interested.” When I am walking around or doing something else, it says “Sad.” Last night I went for dinner with a friend who brought her ten year old son with her. Zubin had just turned eleven when we lost him. This kid reminded me so much of Zubin – not in looks but in how he still had a little boy voice, how he spoke to her in an affectionate, slightly bossy and dominant way. I missed Zubin so much. When I asked my mind what it was feeling, the answer came back as “Super Sad.” I didn’t need my mind to tell me that. I could physically feel the sadness spilling out of my pores. During these times, I just try to watch my shallow breath. In-out-in-out.. for as long as I have to before I resurface.

Some structure a successful, rich, lucky guy might have taken a great pride in building, once upon a time.

Grief, Travel

Faces

Posted on July 11, 2018August 8, 2018 by Mridu Vashist

July 11, 2018

We live in a time when it is common, even expected, to be in the public eye all the time. On a recent trip to Shanghai, I noticed how many people were taking their selfies. I understand the need to capture a moment in an interesting place. However what I noticed particularly was the amount of care taken in capturing those moments. People, mostly women, spent several seconds, sometimes up to even ten seconds, arranging their faces before clicking that button. The lips pouted just so, the eyes opened wide, faces slightly lifted or turned to the side or lowered depending on what they thought their best viewing angle was, and a bright smile to show how happy they were to be there. Followed by a quick bounce back to the same expression that was on their face before they started arranging it for the selfie. In observing them, I felt myself to be intruding their private moments. It was a glimpse of who they were, how important it was for them to look good, to show where they were and what they wanted people who saw their pictures to think. Yet here they were, comfortably and publicly packaging themselves to advertise their fascinating lives to their ‘followers.’ There was not much separation between private and public faces in those moments.

There is however a big separation between professional and public faces when there is no selfie at stake. On this trip I have seen the work faces of people around me. They are pleasant, friendly and hardworking. They hold the door open for you. They say hello and “No thank you” when you say Thank you. It is nice and almost endearing. Yesterday I saw the public or out-of-the-office faces of people. We took the ferry and went to the island of Gulangyu near Xiamen. It was the mad Olympics at the ferry terminal – the running, the pushing, the shoving, the cutting the line. People were running to get on the ferry (ok I buy that.. you want a good seat) and to get off the ferry (why? The island is not going anywhere. And neither is the boat until everyone who wants to get off is gone.) Then I caught the expression on the face of the guy who made it out first. It was a victorious expression. He wanted to be the first to do what everyone else was still trying to do.

Vanity and ego are luxuries we afford ourselves when times are good. When we are steeped in sadness it is hard to get excited about a selfie or being first. It is hard to even get a picture taken. I hate to take pictures of myself without Zubin. I am afraid that his pictures will get buried lower and lower under all these new pictures. So everyday I go back and take screenshots of his old pictures so that he would continue to show up in my Photo feed. Will I resort to photoshop-ing him in my pictures one day? I don’t know. All I know is that his face is no longer in the photos I have been taking, and I couldn’t care less if mine looks good in them.

Grief

Where is Home?

Posted on July 8, 2018August 8, 2018 by Mridu Vashist

July 9, 2018

I have now been traveling for three weeks. This is around the time when issues such as where to find a laundromat start to gain more attention than I would care to give them. I have about four more weeks left before I have to head back ‘home’. The thought of going back makes my heart sick. I cannot consider what used to be home, my home anymore. It is now filled with pain. Before I left, ‘home’ had changed to a place of loss. Rooms that were filled with the sounds of Zubin’s voice were quiet. The living room where he played his video games and watched his TV shows felt dark and depressing. The sofa cushion where he sat eight months ago still had a slight hollow dent left by his frail body. Before leaving, I had covered it with a thin sheet so dust won’t settle there, and the cushion won’t lose his smell. The bathroom where I had helped him so many times was cold and empty. When I go back, its walls will stare at me helplessly, because surely they too miss his funny songs in the shower. The backyard will have his tricycle, waiting for him. And his blue bubble blower toy, the one he used to blow bubbles from and then try to pop them one by one will be on the patio table. His hands won’t touch those things ever again. What am I supposed to do with them now? I can’t remove them from there. That would mean removing another part of his life with us. The kitchen will feel pointless. I won’t be cooking his favorite food for him anymore. So you see why I don’t want to go back ‘home’?

There are days here also when I want the earth to open up and just swallow me. On the surface I look fine. I smile and nod and try to be light and funny. I don’t want to drag others into the depths of my grief. But there have been times when I have sat across from someone, laughing and talking, while all the time a part of me is wishing for it to be over already. It is wishing to go back to bed, climb under the covers and forever stay asleep. Even in those moments, I do not want to go home. At least I am distracted when I am in a crowd. The energy of others around me pulls me up and keeps my head bobbing over the surface. I can still breathe. When I am alone in that miserable, forsaken, sad, dark, despairing structure I used to call home, all I can think of is that my baby lost his life there. He tried so hard to live, and in the end we all lost, big time. When I am out and about, I can keep my mind busy and for some moments in the midst of countless, I can think of Zubin as just my child and not as my child who I lost.

Grief, Travel

Thinking of Zubin

Posted on July 4, 2018August 8, 2018 by Mridu Vashist

July 5, 2018

I have decided to change the name of the blog from Grieving in China to Thinking of Zubin. I haven’t been looking forward to writing for it. And I think it might help if I changed the name. Even Zubin would have said “That is a terrible name, mom! It is so…. sad.” Zubin was all about looking for fun even in the darkest moments. And I would rather be thinking of my Zubin everywhere than be grieving in the midst of all these nice new people that I am meeting. What is the difference, in this situation, between thinking and grieving? A lot. In grieving I am steeped in myself. I am only thinking about my loss – which is immense and indescribable. I have lost a massive piece of my soul. In grief I constantly feel his absence. But when I think of Zubin, it also brings joy to my heart that I got to be his mom for eleven beautiful years that were filled with so much love and laughter. Yes I feel pain, but I also smile. Because I am still his mom. So I carry him with me everywhere I go. I keep him close to me, no matter where I am in this world. I have to continue to be the mom that he would be proud of.

We spent this past weekend in the impressive city of Shanghai. The more I see of this country, the more impressed I am with the speed of development that is going on here. Shanghai was grand on its own scale. I have attached some pictures below. But even in small to mid size cities, the infrastructure is clean, modern and new. Roads are multi-lane, there is no trash almost anywhere and most people smile when they see you. If we set aside the political considerations of China, it is the ordinary hard working people, who are ultimately making it possible. I have not had a reason, so far, to be much interested in politics, so I won’t compare here the merits of one economic system versus another. However I do see that ultimately, at a basic level, we are all in a perpetual struggle to survive. Perhaps it is my own struggle to survive in the midst of my grief that colors my perspective so. But I feel that we have to rely on each other to live. And kindness and a smile or even a nod could help one deal with a crummy day a little bit better.

On the topic of my memoir, I was able to complete one really rough first draft. 45000 words done! But they are words that read more like my diary and less like something someone could read to the end. I have the Mount Everest of a task in front of me. And I don’t know yet which way to start climbing. In fact I am still sharpening my little ice axe and looking around for the rest of my mountaineering gear. And I am not even a climber. But somehow, I don’t know yet how, I hope to get there.

<- From the foot of Shanghai tower

Grief, Travel

Friends without words

Posted on June 26, 2018August 8, 2018 by Mridu Vashist

June 26, 2018

It has been four days since my last post. I did not write for three days – Friday, Saturday and Sunday. I put down about 500 words yesterday, and am thoroughly at my wits’ end on how to increase my daily word count. Everything I write feels inadequate and not at all how I want to describe Zubin, how he was. I feel myself slipping from Rachael’s advice to keep writing and not look back. I feel that I am repeating myself and not being able to show as much as I want to. My word count goal for today is a 1000 words. So far I am 50% of the way there. But it is weighing heavily on my mind. And I will write some more after dinner tonight.

I was invited by a friend to go shopping and sightseeing on Friday. I do not enjoy shopping at all but I did relish the opportunity to spend some time with her. It turned out to be a comically frustrating day. We drove 40 minutes to get to Zhongshan road. There, I tried to withdraw some money at an ATM. However the machine swallowed my card and kept displaying “processing…” on the screen. I tried canceling the transaction but it wouldn’t let me cancel either. A bank official told me that they would have to see my passport before they would return the card. So we drove back another 40 minutes to the hotel, got the passport, drove back another three quarters of an hour and finally got my card back. At that point I was fed up and just wanted to be done. So we clicked some pictures, drank red bean chai tea and headed back. But before that we made one stop at the shop shown in the picture below. Evidently it is a very old and famous snack shop in Xiamen. My friend insisted we try some seafood soup, peanut soup and a spring roll with mangoes and pineapple. It was as good a day as any, still I was thankful for my friend’s company. She remembered Zubin from when she had visited us in June 2017. It is always nice to hear when someone brings up Zubin and says that they remember him as a sweet kid. It is no use telling me not to think about him (which some people have done.) That is simply not possible. He is all I think about most of the time.

Over the weekend, we went to Wuyi mountain with another friend and hiked for a long time. We were joined for lunch by a family with two small kids. I remembered how Zubin loved kids. I am sure that if he were here he would have found a way to communicate with them in spite of the language barrier, and they would all have become best friends by the time lunch was over.

We all felt his absence acutely throughout the trip.

Picture of Zubin with his little cousin. Notice his tender expression!

A popular snack bar on Zhongshan road:

Grief

Getting ready

Posted on June 20, 2018August 8, 2018 by Mridu Vashist

June 20, 2018

Today’s target is to write one scene, about 1500 words. Let’s see how it goes. It seems that the procrastinating clouds are looming today. Or maybe it is just my OCD need to be perfectly organized? I upgraded my OS, installed an app called Scrivener and compiled all my notes together in it. Now I am looking at this mishmash of old notes and diary entries that have to be sorted through and turned into material that I can expand on. I am eager to start but don’t know where to start burrowing. I feel like a mouse who has to tunnel through a small hill to get to the corn. Where is the softest spot to start? Hmmm..

I am going to go back and look at it again. Will report back tomorrow.

On another note, while compiling my material today, I came across this note written by Zubin for what he wanted for his 9th birthday. He assigned some to specific people (how helpful) and the rest is in a miscellaneous bucket for mom. I don’t think that he got a lot of these. He wasn’t sick yet and I was still being selective on how much money we could spend on his big day. In hindsight I should have stretched more. It was the last birthday that he celebrated without cancer.

9th birthday list. (by Zubin)

Pokemon -mom . Dad – t shirt . Rushil – Lego. Extra app. poster, books, Room upgrades, And Video games ,figure, King tut costume, alien costume, stuffed Pokemon animals,traps,new lunch box, robotic fishes , and a happpppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppy 🎁birthday!

Grief, Travel

Time and Lies

Posted on June 20, 2018August 8, 2018 by Mridu Vashist

June 19, 2018

It is my second day in China. I finished Rachael’s book (so yesterday’s goal met!) The book is a fast but extremely good read and chock full of information. I love her humorous and gently insistent style. I might take her class in the Fall. Now my writing project starts from today. My goal for today is to start by planning my memoir. I have to create an outline with chapters and scenes for my project. And then, dip my first toe in by writing 500 words today. I am taking Rachael’s suggestion about writing bad first drafts very seriously and am planning to just get the words on paper. I think that doing the outline is somewhat easy, especially because it is like starting by drawing a line in the sand. I can always change it later. Important thing is to start building with the first block.

While having breakfast today, I noticed a little girl, about 7-8 years old, sitting with her mom at another table. The girl was happily chattering away. I remembered how my little Zubin loved to talk. He could talk non-stop about the most interesting stuff (to him) for a long time. And once he said “I love talking. I love the sound of words coming out of my mouth.” I used to sit next to my Zubin, just like that little girl’s mom, looking out distractedly and probably thinking of all the things she needed or wanted to do besides being a mom – have a career, do shopping, sightseeing, and just to be free. Except I am free now and I don’t want this freedom. I want nothing more than to take care of my Zubin and to laugh with him at his little boy jokes and the silly faces that he made.

At lunch I met another woman who admired my green earrings and said that her favorite color is green. I liked her instantly and shared that my son’s favorite color is green too. Then I showed her Zubin’s picture. She assumed that he was not with me at present (true in a way) and remarked “What a cute boy!” and then moved to the next topic. I didn’t say anything further because I didn’t want to share too much in case I made her uncomfortable and also because she thought Zubin was alive. I liked that and wanted him to keep on living in her mind.

Here is the view from the room where I have been writing:

Grief, Travel

Dragons

Posted on June 20, 2018August 8, 2018 by Mridu Vashist

June 18, 2018

So June 17 was already over (effect of traveling east) by the time we reached Xiamen, China. Today is my first day here. I thought of Zubin all of last evening and night. I couldn’t believe that I am traveling without him. That he will never again go anywhere with me – ever. My brain shuts itself when I think like that. So mostly I try to stay numb. I headed down to breakfast at Sheraton where I will be staying for the trip (lavish! I know. Benefits of being a corporate widow. Plus they give good discounts for frequent business travelers – thanks to my husband.) Zubin loved big breakfast buffets. You wouldn’t have been able to tell because he wasn’t a big eater. But give him some chicken nuggets, a petit chocolate chip muffin and cereal, and he was a happy camper. He mostly loved the pomp and show of these expansive spreads. Today is also Dragon festival in China. Zubin loved dragons. Not hard to imagine since they are the stuff that many little boys’ dreams are made of. He loved the legend and lore of it. He couldn’t get enough of dragon stories. Just for Zubin’s sake, I asked our concierge about the legend behind Dragon festival.

Legend goes (in a very condensed version) that there was a patriot and poet who lived around 300 BC in the state of Chu. His name was Qu Yuan. He was a major advisor to the King in the war among the seven states of Chu, Han, Qi, Qin, Wei, Yan and Zhao. However his political opponents slandered him and got him exiled. The Kingdom of Chu subsequently lost to the state of Qin. Qu Yuan was so depressed by this defeat that he drowned himself in a river. The local people were very sad at his death and they rowed into the river and threw lumps of rice to feed the fish so that they would not eat his body. Resulting local traditions include dragon boat racing and eating sticky rice dumplings called zongzi. I think Zubin would have enjoyed this story – particularly the part about feeding the fish. In the evening we got invited to a friend’s home for dinner and got to eat some zongzi.

Between the jet lag due to the 15 hour time difference and the dinner with our friend’s family, I set myself a modest goal for today. I am working on finishing Rachael’s book and leaving the writing for tomorrow. I love you Zubin. I am thinking of you baby.

Grief, Travel

Running Away

Posted on June 19, 2018August 8, 2018 by Mridu Vashist

June 16, 2018

I am sitting on a plane ready to takeoff for China. I am supposed to be feeling excited. But I am just sad. I remember flying with Zubin by my side. He was such a pro-traveler. Even at 3 he had the routine down. Within minutes of the plane taking off, he would be reaching for his headphones and cranking up the kids’ entertainment channel. He loved watching movies on flights. And he was a fan of animated movies – you know the kind they show on kids’ channels – Incredibles, Moana, Coraline , Kubo and the Two Strings and such. I loved watching these movies with him. They were my guilty excursions into a child’s world of fantasy and magic. The last time I watched one of these movies was with Zubin. I haven’t been able to bring myself to reenter his world without him. On this flight though, I thought I would try to watch a kids’ animated movie. I scrolled through the titles, many of which I had already watched with Zubin. I could not pick any of the familiar ones. So I selected Tad the Lost Explorer And the Secret of King Midas, a Spanish animated film translated to English. I watched it with a constant ache in my heart thinking of the numerous times when I had watched similar movies in the hospital room with Zubin. I remembered when colorful animated graphics and bright music of these movies had blended with fluorescent lights in sterile rooms of our pediatrics cancer hospital, and my kid’s innocence and fate had danced a complicated macabre tango of life and death.

On the rest of the flight I decided to read a book that was recommended by my friend. It is called Fast Draft your Memoir: Write your Life Story in 45 hours by Rachael Herron. I am going to follow her approach and see if I can complete the first draft of my Zubin’s story during this trip. It will be excruciatingly hard, but I am determined to do it.